The Unemployment Scam
by BiteMeTechie
Summary: *CAT* What are three out of work henchgirls supposed to do to support themselves now that the world thinks they're dead and gone?
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer**: I'm running out of things DC owes me for...oh wait, a blonde Batgirl. Right. They still owe me for that one...I am unrepentant about fiddling about in their 'verse because of Alicia Silverstone._

_This story is part of the CATverse, the story arc listing for which can be found at freewebs dot com slash catverse. It takes place in Arc Four, right after "The Truce in the Trenches" by Twinings._

* * *

_You know what sucks about being dead?_

_I mean, aside from the obvious 'Deceased' thing?_

_Unemployment. _

_Apparently, most legitimate employers in the area want things like "Documented Proof You Exist" before they'll hire you, and since according to official government records we're all dead and buried, that particular requirement is one we're unable to meet at the moment._

_I'm starting to think we should have thought this whole 'Let's fake our deaths!' thing through more thoroughly. _

_We've been living by our wits lately, but our petty cash supply is dwindling **fast.** We can't pull another heist-not so close to the **last** one we did in Metropolis anyways (though I'm not certain if that counts as a 'heist' so much as 'tomfoolery')-we're still pretty infamous in certain 'undesirable' circles and the last thing we need is to draw **more** attention to ourselves, so that leaves out doing any 'special' work for any of the bosses in Gotham._

_So…fake IDs and classified ads, here we come!_

* * *

The Gotham Times classified ads lay stretched in front of the Captain, Al and Techie like a neatly printed black and white wasteland.

The three had been staring at the newspaper for close to an hour, crossing out anything and everything they weren't qualified for, covering the newsprint in a smattering of various colored inks as they scribbled on anything they wouldn't be able to apply for.

Now it's not that they didn't have any marketable skills, instead it was the fact that they couldn't _prove_ they had any marketable skills.

Even if the three _weren't_ notorious henchgirls known throughout Gotham's underground, it was next to impossible to find someone who'd hire them without documentation of some kind or another.

Thankfully for the Captain, Al and Techie, there were ways of getting around that. Now that they had fake IDs (Corrine Newcastle, Arlene Putnam and Teryl Adams, respectively), their options for employment were a bit better.

Not _much_ better, mind, but a _bit_. They still couldn't go in for anything high profile (therefore, high _paying_) and had to stay out of the public eye as much as humanly possible for safety's sake, but there were several possibilities glaring up at them from the Times.

Easy jobs...mostly grunt work...

Thankfully the sorts of jobs that people didn't _usually_ run into trouble while they were doing them.

Of course, these three had a knack for getting into trouble _regardless_ of the odds to the contrary...adventures in gainful employment would be no exception.


	2. Chapter 2

The Captain blew out a long breath.

Bored.

Bored, bored, _boooored_.

God was she ever _bored._

Here she thought being a parking garage security attendant would have _tons_ of exciting perks…

Like being able to beat up rowdy would-be car thieves with her nifty new nightstick.

Three days on the job and no such luck. Not so much as a _peep_ out of any of the car alarms and not a single suspicious looking character wandering the area.

It was disappointing to say the very least.

In the plus column though, she looked _damn_ good in her new uniform.

Even if the hat _was_ a little bit on the goofy looking side.

It was mind boggling how she'd managed to pass the background check that came with taking this sort of job. After all, Gotham was a city _full_ of criminals, from super villains to petty pickpockets, getting a position in security should have been next to _impossible_ for someone like her.

Even _with_ her new identity, _something_ shady should have popped up on the background check…

Like the fact that Corrine Newcastle didn't even exist until a few weeks earlier.

But apparently, there was something working to her advantage in this situation. Maybe the guy who ran the background check was lax in his duties; maybe the impression she gave her prospective employer was so dazzling during her interview that he hadn't _bothered_ to run a background check…

Or _maybe_ the parking garage was secretly owned by a member of one of the local mafia families and the place was slated to blow up in less than half an hour so that the aforementioned owner could collect the insurance money.

And he figured that if the place was completely empty the cops would get wise and figure out the structure's collapse hadn't been an 'accident'.

But the Captain didn't know any of these things…didn't know that she'd unwittingly become a pawn in an insurance scam…she just knew she was bored out of her mind sitting here without any heads to bust.

She glanced at her watch and saw that her shift would be ending in less than twenty minutes…the girls would be here to pick her up by then and they'd all snag dinner on the way back to their cheap motel room…

The only problem with this was that the Captain was hungry _now_.

She stared at the security monitors and then back at her watch.

Well, there _was_ that delicatessen across the street…she could just step out for a few seconds to grab a sandwich to tide her over until her comrades came to pick her up.

Yeah. That would work.

It's not like there'd been anyone in the building in the last three hours anyways…what were the odds that someone would show up right now to claim their car?

With this logic in mind, the Captain hopped down from her perch on the stool behind the security guard's desk, and ducked outside.

The air had that nasty cold January bite to it that all winter months in Gotham seemed to have, so she made it across the street as quickly as possible without slipping on the icy avenue, intent on getting inside the deli as fast as she could.

She liked frolicking in the snow, sure, but she wasn't a big fan of frigid cold _without_ snow.

The Captain stopped in the middle of the street to stare at the stretch of pavement directly in front of the deli.

Where she found her two friends parked in their VW bus, eating their _own_ sandwiches. Apparently, both of them had gotten off work early and saw fit to grab a bite and wait for her shift to end.

The Captain waved at them and started approaching the van before a loud rumbling started and was punctuated by a deafening **BOOOOOM!**

Spinning on her heel, the Captain watched as the building she'd been occupying mere moments before disappeared in a cloud of smoke and rubble.

Turning back to Techie and Al, she saw the accusing looks on their faces and reacted accordingly.

"What? Why are you looking at me that way? **I** didn't do it!"

"Get in the van," Al said harshly, dropping her sandwich on the street carelessly and starting the engine.

The Captain crossed to the passenger side of the microbus where Techie was scooting over on the bench seat to make room for her.

As The Frohike pulled away from the scene of the building's disintegration and the Captain buckled her seat belt, Techie looked at the Captain reprovingly.

The Captain met her chief of operations officer's critical glare innocently. "Why is it every time something blows up or catches on fire everyone looks at _me_?"

"Because you _usually_ have something to do with it."


	3. Chapter 3

Al didn't like Superman. This was a truth acknowledged by anyone who knew her longer than five minutes.

It was one of the very first things that helped her to like Techie.

_She_ didn't like Superman _either_.

Back when they were first getting to know each other, during those few days after Techie's arrival but _before_ The Christmas Party Of Doom, sometimes they'd talk long into the night, playing out different scenarios about just how to get rid of 'Big Blue' (for that's what Techie called him), each idea more outlandish and violent than the last.

The Captain had seen it as the cutest form of bonding she'd ever been witness to and gave them both big mugs of hot chocolate as a reward.

After their initial entrance into the criminal underworld, in the form of rescuing the Riddler oh-so-long-ago, then their exploits on their own _and_ with the Scarecrow, the three henchgirls had actually gotten more than one opportunity to face off with the ultimate spandex wearing boy scout.

And Al found that she didn't like him any better in person than she did in theory.

As an extension, she wasn't very fond of Metropolis.

After all, the two _did_ go hand in hand.

But since the Captain had found a way to get involved in a massive explosion in Gotham a little under a month before, and _that_ was all over the news _there_, they had no choice but to book it to the nearest place that they were familiar with.

While they didn't have Metropolis wired the way they did Gotham (between the three of them, they knew _that_ city inside and out), they knew it well enough to get around without getting into much trouble.

Key word: _much_.

Techie accidentally started a fire in an upscale sushi bar where she'd been hired (and Al hadn't let _that_ gaffe slide just yet...after all, how do you start a fire in a restaurant that hasn't got a _stove_?), while the Captain quietly worked as an auto mechanic in a chop shop that had, just a few days earlier, inexplicably exploded.

Inexplicable explosions and the Captain seemed to go together like waffles and syrup...

(Al couldn't cook, Techie couldn't do math, and the Captain blew things up. If there was a right way to tell someone everything they needed to know about those three women in one sentence, that about summed it up.)

Thusly, the position of main breadwinner of their little family group automatically fell at Al's feet.

She was the only one who managed to get a job and _keep_ it since they'd relocated to Metropolis.

And being a cab driver was about as glamorous a task as you could possibly imagine. Especially considering that regardless of which cab she was assigned by the guy who ran the cab company, it always had _some_ kind of problem with it's heating vents.

Like the fact they blew snow in the middle of February rather than the expected _warm_ _air_.

Thankfully, she figured she only had about two more days at this before she and her two friends had enough cash scraped up to pick up and move back to Gotham quietly.

But at this rate, she might freeze to death before _then_...

Shivering, Al reached up and swiped one gloved hand on the windshield, clearing the fog that her breath had managed to create.

She froze in place as she came face to face with the man of steel.

Except he was wearing glasses...and that didn't make any sense...

Al shook herself, blinked and looked at the man in front of her cab again.

Mild mannered businessy type who looked _eerily_ like Superman, but with glasses and without the spit curl.

She let out a little sigh of relief and chided herself silently. _Stupid paranoia_.

The back door of the cab opened and the Not-Spit-Curl man got into the vehicle, "Corner of fiftieth and third, please."

He even _sounded_ mild mannered...

"Sure thing," Al said.

Or _tried_ to say, at least...her teeth were chattering against each other so violently that the noise she made sounded more like 'Shhh-h-h-h-r-t-t-t-tting'

Clenching her jaw so tightly it started to ache, Al hit the button on the meter and started away from the curb where she'd been parked.

The bright yellow cab traveled about a half a block and promptly got stuck in a mass of traffic.

_Stupid Valentine's Day...everyone's shopping._

The cab driver chanced a look in the rearview mirror at her passenger and found that, yeah, if you took off those glasses and fixed his hair just so...he would look an _awful_ lot like Superman...

"Do I know you?" The fare asked abruptly, meeting Al's eyes in the mirror.

_Funny, I was just about to ask you the same thing..._

"Doubt it," Al answered carefully, having to force the words out without her teeth clacking together, "I'm new in town."

_Don't tell him anything you dummy!_ A little miniature Techie-esque voice piped up, _That's Big Blue if ever I saw him!_

_Oh don't be paranoid,_ the Captain's voice replied rationally inside Al's head (and if the fact that she was hearing voices didn't throw up any red flags, the fact that the Captain was being the voice of reason in this situation certainly _should_ have), _Superman wouldn't be in a cab..._

_But--but-but--secret identity! Yes! Secret Identity!_ The other voice answered, sounding like Techie had on the handful of occasions she'd been allowed to go on a three day Jolt! cola and pixie stick binge. _This is Big Blue's secret identity! Look at that chin! Nobody has a chin that square and doesn't have a cape at home!_

_Bruce Campbell doesn't have a cape,_ the Captain voice murmured. _Not that we __**know**__ of, anyway..._

Al silently gagged the two imaginary partners who were both weighing in on the fact--no, the _possibility_--that the man in her backseat was Superman in disguise...

Never mind the fact that the two women she lived with had so ingrained themselves in her consciousness they were occupying the roles of shoulder angel and shoulder devil...that wasn't important.

"New in town, you say?" The man in the backseat asked innocently, completely unaware of the imaginary argument going on inside the cabbie's head, "Well then, welcome to Metropolis."

Al muttered a thanks and continued to stealthily study the man behind her in the rearview mirror.

Boy, it was weird to sit there and undress him with her eyes only to redress him in bright blue spandex.

"So, what do you think of the place so far?"

_Stop trying to talk to me...stop it. Stop it. I'm a cab driver. You're not supposed to be interested in who I am or where I'm from or what I think of your city._

Al just shrugged, not trusting her voice.

The sooner she got this creep out of her cab, the better...he was giving her the willies with those eyes that looked like they were staring straight through her head.

Of course, if he really _was_ Superman, that wouldn't be too far off from the truth...

The car in front of Al's started to move, giving her an excuse to stop dwelling on the thought that maybe, just _maybe_, Mister Mild Mannered Whatever-He-Was was in reality Superman--

_You've got a pencil. Stab him with your pencil!_ The Techie voice shouted suddenly.

The Captain voice was strangely silent...

Of course, the Captain _liked_ senseless violence...stabbing the guy in her backseat just to see if he was Superman or not was something she probably would've not only endorsed, but come up with.

But how to pull that off covertly from her current position?

And why was she even considering it?

_Because he's SUPERMAN!_ Al could practically _see_ the miniature Techie in her head, bouncing up and down, pinwheeling her arms wildly. _Stab him! STAB HIM! _

_Stabbity!_ The Captain voice supplied, crossing over to the dark side at the precise moment that the woman herself would have gotten on board with this preposterous plan of action.

Al fought internally for a few minutes...long enough for her to get the cab to it's destination, and if you asked her later why exactly she did what she did, she'd never be able to tell you.

The pencil was in her hand and she was marking down the number on the meter.

Then her door was open, she was out on the street and opening the back door for her fare.

"Full service cab company, huh?" he asked with a disarming grin.

"Yup," she answered as he handed her the money she was owed, along with a generous tip, "Happy Valentine's Day."

When he turned his back to walk away, she struck, jabbing the pencil into his back as hard as she possibly could, not thinking about what the consequences might be if she was _wrong_.

He just kept walking, like he hadn't felt a thing.

Al was left staring at the shattered piece of number two pencil in her hand and all the little voices in her head had the exact same thing to say:

_Well...bugger._

_-_

A/N: Haha!

I shouldn't have done that...but you know what?

I liked doing it anyway...

Originally, I had planned on having her fare be Lex Luthor, but since A Very Squishy Christmas isn't posted yet (COUGH), I couldn't do that without spoiling _that_ story for everybody.

Besides, Al sorta-unmasking Superman (I say sorta because she has no idea what his identity is, other than the fact he's Big Blue in disguise), is something I can _so_ see her doing.

And stabbing him with a pencil...I can see _that_ too.

Way easier than I'm comfortable admitting, actually.

-launches into uncontrollable fits of giggles-

_Stabbity!_

I think I hurt myself laughing when I typed that...


	4. Chapter 4

The Captain was involved in no less than four explosions, Al got to stab Superman and Techie...

Techie started a fire.

On _accident._

It was nearing the end of February, closing in on the second month of the three women trying to get and _keep_ legitimate jobs, and that was the most exciting thing that had happened to the woman known to a handful of other people as 'Ops'.

Granted, that particular fire had blazed so hot that it had taken three buildings with it, but she considered that to be small potatoes in comparison to stabbing Superman with a pencil.

It really wasn't fair. Al got to do all the fun stuff in Metropolis...

Knocking Big Blue in the head with an iron pipe; pantsing Lex Luthor; stabbing Big Blue with a pencil...

Really, it was enough to make a woman bitter and resentful.

She wasn't...but by God, if Al or the Captain got to have one more adventure without her she'd...she'd...

Well, she wouldn't _leave_ them, but she wouldn't talk to them for a week.

At least now that they were back in Gotham, the chances of having an adventure of her own had increased.

Albeit only slightly, since she was working in a gourmet food emporium and when you think 'Action!' you don't automatically think 'Caviar!'.

Managing to make the cash register she was working behind go berserk for the third time in an hour didn't seem to be indicative of keeping her job in the food service industry for very long, though...

She didn't like that cash register...not one bit. It was an ancient, heavy machine that was so behind in the times it could've been featured in a Doris Day movie, it would **not** cooperate with her regardless of what she did, it was ugly and _worst_ of all: it was _beige_.

Any person with a penchant for technology could tell you that no self respecting piece of machinery was _beige_.

Techie hated it on principle.

And if the thing's poltergeist-esque actions were any sign, the feeling was mutual.

As she bashed on the stubborn old keypad for the fifth time, taking perverse pleasure in the unhealthy dinging noises it made, she wondered how exactly things had managed to fall apart quite so quickly.

It didn't seem like all that long ago she had a steady job and a steady place to stay.

Granted, that 'steady job' was as a henchgirl and that 'steady place to stay' was the lair of one of Gotham's nastier villains, but dammit...it was better than this constant hopping from city to city and hotel room to hotel room, wasn't it?

She was actually starting to contemplate _returning_ to a life of crime.

She knew that the Captain and Al were starting to miss their escapades...the ones they had on _purpose_, and she was starting to get antsy herself.

The life of a legitimate law abiding citizen was _not_ one meant for she and her friends. Techie thought she had maybe a week left in her before she caved in and suggested that maybe, just _maybe_ this whole 'ethical lifestyle' thing wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

But hey, at least it gave her time to contemplate that bit of a news item she'd heard earlier that morning...something about an emerald and the local museum...

_That_ had promise.

**DING!**

"Damn you, you stubborn, worthless piece of--"

"Ahem."

Techie stopped banging on the cash register and looked up at the man standing in front of the counter. He was old. Not old enough to be nearing his expiration date, but old enough to be getting close to his 'sell-by' date, at least. Techie winced and gave herself a mental slap. She was starting to _think_ in grocer's terms...that couldn't have been a good sign.

"Welcome to Erica's Imports." She plastered on the 'Buy something and go away already' grin, "Is there something I can help you with?"

"I have come to retrieve a case of Poseidon Caviar," the man said in a very upper crust British accent. "I was told the order arrived this morning."

Techie stared at him blankly for a moment. Poseidon Caviar? Like she would know one kind of fish egg from another? This was a woman who thought a happy meal was a delicacy.

Well, she was good at faking her way in situations where she had no idea what she was doing...this was no exception.

"Um...what was the name on the order?" She asked conversationally, bending down to look under the counter for the binder that held the list of specialty orders.

"Wayne."

Techie froze and gulped, remembering that not so long ago, she and her three comrades had robbed a Wayne industries function...she scanned the order ledger and the feeling that ice had just been dumped on her neck made itself known.

"Bruce...Wayne?"

"Yes indeed, madam. If you would be so kind as to stop wasting my time, I would appreciate it," he replied impatiently.

Techie stared at the book again, just to keep her eyes off the old man who was tapping his fingers on the counter. "Uh…the ledger says it's in the back."

"WAUGH!" The bell on the front door jingled loudly as the door was slammed shut and Oswald Cobblepot, otherwise known as The Penguin, waddled in, startling the other two occupants of the shop.

If the old man noticed that the woman who was waiting on him went white as a sheet, he didn't make comment on it.

He _did_ however notice that Mister Cobblepot's intentions were _far_ from honorable as he gawked at the clerk.

While _she_ knew it was because he was trying to place where he knew her from, Alfred Pennyworth (which was, unbeknownst to Techie, the name of her customer) assumed Cobblepot's gaping at the young woman was more criminal--perhaps even _lecherous_--in intent.

Techie gathered her wits as quickly as she could and plastered on the same fake grin she'd given Alfred. "Can I help you?"

Cobblepot merely narrowed his eyes at her and adjusted his monocle as he looked her up and down with careful scrutiny. "It's _you_."

What happened next occurred so quickly that Techie barely had time to register that it had happened. The end of Cobblepot's umbrella shot out into a razor sharp blade (the Techie part of her brain realized that it must've been spring loaded to do so with such speed), was pointed directly at her and his stance became that of a clumsy swashbuckler.

At least, it _was_ before Alfred saw fit to stealthily _trip_ him, snatch the umbrella and whack him on the back of the head with it, knocking him off balance and into a display of gourmet crackers. The gourmet cracker display was next to an even _larger_ display of tinned Goose pate, which collapsed on the Penguin, several cans konking him on the head before finally knocking him unconscious and burying him.

"Are you alright, madam?"

When a can rolled away from the pile, across the floor and landed at Techie's feet, the absolute absurdity of the situation hit her and she started _cackling_, causing Alfred to look at her like she'd lost her marbles.

"I'm sorry," she said between hysterical giggles, "It's just…"

She pointed at the weapon that Alfred had relieved Cobblepot of mere moments earlier. "Hoisted on his own umbrella."


	5. Chapter 5

_Grounds keeper. I tell the guy who's running this stupid miniature golf course that I'm good with technology and he makes me __**groundskeeper.**_

_I hate golf. I hate miniature golf, and I hate most of all that creepy clown on the course..._

_Wait...that's...oh God, that's not part of the attraction. The clown on the course was wearing __**green**__ not __**purple**_

_Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God, oh-_

* * *

The Joker wasn't much of a theme villain lately. He'd let his penchant for theme crimes slide over the past couple of years, preferring to cause mayhem and wreck havoc wherever he went...

The Bat was starting to expect that sort of thing from him as a result.

So of course, in order to keep old Batsy on his toes, Joker decided that a theme crime was in order.

His target?

Jester Jones' Miniature Golf Course.

His method?

Fifty pounds of high explosive.

He'd just finished stuffing the last of the bright purple bombs into the large mechanical clown's head when he spotted a muddy groundskeeper staring at him, one hand wrapped around a book and the other holding a pencil.

He took great pleasure in noticing that her knuckles were white.

Joker cackled, waved daintily at the groundskeeper in her grubby uniform and winked.

Wisely, she dropped the book and pencil, turned green and _ran_.

All Joker could think was that maybe, just _maybe_ there were still a few intelligent people left in this town.

A shame he was about to off one of the few smart ones that he'd had the pleasure of encountering recently...

Then he departed, letting the loud **BOOM** that shook the entire surrounding area work as his exit music.

* * *

The devastation at Jester Jones' was absolutely shocking. The entire course was practically wiped off the map, from the concession stand to the groundskeeper shack, there wasn't a single structure that hadn't been affected in _some_ way.

By the time the fire department arrived, the rubble of the concession stand was starting to stir, three different forms immerging from the pile, and looking quite the worse for wear.

"That. Is. IT!" Techie shouted as the Captain and Al clawed their way out of the remains of the small building. "I have HAD it with this legitimate lifestyle thing! I am going back to a life of crime and **never** looking back!"

The Captain and Al glanced at each other before looking back at Techie.

"You mean it?"

"Really, _really_ mean it?"

"Yes!" Techie exclaimed, flailing her arms for effect.

Captain made a 'squee' noise and both she and Al descended on Techie with rib crushing hugs.

"It's about time!"

"Can we rob a bank? Please? Please, please, pleeeeeeeease?" Captain chirped excitedly.

Techie wriggled a little bit, just enough so that she could breathe properly. "I've got a better idea."

"What?"

"You ever hear of the Sellers' Emerald?"

* * *

_Wondering what happens next? Check out my story "Luck of the Irish" to find out!_


End file.
